


Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones (And Words Will Cut Me Deeply)

by Cocoplumb



Category: TharnType the Series (TV), บังเอิญรัก | Love by Chance (TV)
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:38:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocoplumb/pseuds/Cocoplumb
Summary: Tharn is attacked outside the bar and can’t find it in him to fight back.
Relationships: Tharn/Type (Love by Chance)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 392





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from Tumblr

Tharn’s muscles tense, his whole body freezing as his back collides with the concrete wall. “Fucking fag,” an angry voice grumbles over him, throwing another punch.

Thunder claps and the rain pours down. It’s like the weather is as angry as the man in front of him.

Something warm trickles down Tharn’s top lip. If he hadn’t been caught off guard and the guy didn’t have two of his buddies with him, Tharn could easily take him.

That’s what he tells himself as the punches keep on coming. He tries to block, he tries to hit back. But he can’t. His body just won’t move, won’t _listen_.

“Gay piece of shit. You make me sick!” A knee to his stomach and Tharn keels over. White hot pain leaving him gasping for breath. He catches himself with both hands, arms trembling, grit cutting his palms.

He is not weak. He’s not. He can take them. All three of them.

“Don’t you fucking run, pervert!”

He doesn’t realise he’s trying to crawl away until there’s a fist in the back of his shirt pulling him back and into the wall.

“Fucking HIV diseased rat.” 

His head bounces off the concrete and Tharn’s vision is blurred, warm blood in his mouth, ribs throbbing in agony as he wheezes. “S-st-stop.” He’s pleading and he hates himself for it. “P-please.”

It’s not the hits, it’s the words. Each slur cutting through his gut and leaving him raw.

It hurts. It hurts and they won’t stop. They can’t stop. 

His lips are swollen and numb. Maybe they’re bleeding too. It’s getting hard to tell what is blood and what is rain. All of it warm and humid and swirling together in a puddle of red.

_“Fuck you. You’re not wanted!” _

He flinches.

Type’s voice as clear as a bell in his ear. His beautiful face hovering over him, the soft shy smile twisted into something ugly and full of disgust.

“T-Ty…” he groans, black dots dancing in the dark alley, thunder rumbling in his ears. 

A crunch of his ribs and Tharn can’t breathe.

_“I hate you!”_

The last thing Tharn sees before he passes out is the fork of lightening in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

Tharn and Type are lying with their bodies entwined, their beds pushed together like the old days. Tharn has his head resting on Type’s shoulder, their legs mingled together with messy sheets thrown over them.**  
**

Tharn’s bruises have faded to a murky yellow, his swollen lips back to their natural shape, his tender ribs almost dull enough that he can breathe normally.

P’Jeed found him. Face down in rain water and his own blood, his phone and wallet stolen, his body beaten raw.

The police came to the hospital to question him and assumed it was a simple mugging gone wrong. Tharn didn’t correct them or anyone else, and after it was determined his ribs weren’t broken and his concussion was only mild, he was discharged from the hospital the next morning.

The week that followed is a blur for Tharn. He doesn’t remember much besides a fog of painkillers and Type helping him to the bathroom a few times a day. The saddest part is he can barely recall Type bathing him. He knows it happened, because his eyes stung from the shampoo for days after, but the event itself is pretty foggy.

As the days rolled on, his bruises faded, his cuts healed, he switched from the strong stuff to over the counter painkillers and life went back to normal.

Occasionally Tharn sees their faces in his dreams. On those nights he and Type switch from their usual roles and he’s the one waking with sweat coating his skin and a steady chest lulling him back to sleep.

_“It’s okay. It’s okay, Tharn. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here.”_

The gentle breeze from the open window catches Tharn’s attention. It isn't too late, the sun barely just setting on the day giving their room a dull but warm glow.

Type traces his fingers over one of the stubborn shadows lingering on Tharn’s chin. His lips are pressed thin, his brow furrowed.

He’s stopped asking about that night, but it doesn’t mean he’s stopped thinking about it. Tharn knows Type has imagined every wicked scenario in his head about what he’d do to the people who attacked him if they ever met. Tharn knows because he does it too, each time Type flinches from him unconsciously.

Type’s brow lines deepen and Tharn flicks in between his eyes.

“Ow!” Type whines. “What was that for?”

“If you keep frowning like that your face will be stuck permanently.”

“Fuck off.” He rubs his forehead and honestly looks like a grumpy cat meme. “Now I don’t even feel bad for throwing out your shirt.”

"You threw out my shirt?”

Type shrugs. “I couldn’t get the blood out.”

"You always had it in for that shirt.”

“It was ugly.”

“It was my favourite shirt.”

Type rolls his eyes. “That’s because you have terrible fashion sense.”

“Kick a man while he’s down why don’t you.”

“You deserve it.” Tharn doesn’t miss the crack in his voice, the light air gone in an instant. There’s a long pause before Type speaks again. “You scared the shit out of me,” he whispers under his breath.

Tharn threads his fingers through Type’s dark hair. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Type shrugs, looking away.

“I know. I’m still sorry.” _Sorry for getting hurt. Sorry for making you worry. Sorry for not fighting back. Sorry for sometimes seeing your face instead of his._

_Sorry for being gay._

_Sorry._

_Sorry._

_Sorry._

Silence falls over the room. The sun has almost set, the warm haze gone completely. It matches the somber tone of the room.

“Hey, Tharn. You once told me you would always hear me out. I could tell you anything.”

“Mmh.”

“So...you know. You can tell me. Anything.”

Tharn can’t help but smile, it tugs on the faint aches and doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He doesn’t deny he’s holding something back this time. He just nods, tears in his eyes, pain in his chest.

“Yeah, I know.”


End file.
